EXHIBIT A
by JeannieMac
Summary: Missing scenes from Magnificat season 4: how Eames knew about Goren's lawyer friend who specializes in custody cases. BA in an established relationship, very early stages.


**EXHIBIT A, by JeannieMac  
**

_Disclaimer: all together now…All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of Universal Studios, NBC and Dick Wolf et al. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment, not for money. No infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended._

**Author's Note: This takes place towards the end of "Magnificat" (season 4), before the courtoom scene that concludes the episode, but you don't need to have seen it for the story to make sense. B/A in an established relationship, very early stages.**

_Is this day over yet?_

Alex Eames gazes wearily at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She has a bitter taste in her mouth from filing her case report - from the effort it took to maintain even the bare minimum of professional detachment in her account of Doreen Whitlock's grief-ravaged confession and their subsequent interview with her bastard of a husband.

"So I knew she was suicidal. So what?" he'd said. _So what. _She's still sick with anger, remembering it. Bobby had gotten a rise out of him, in the end, but it was no victory. Paul Whitlock was going to walk away almost unscathed from the bloody remains of the family he'd destroyed, and there was nothing she or Bobby could do.

She realizes she is clenching her fists, fingers cramping on the cold porcelain of the sink. _God. I need to hit something,_ she thinks. She wonders if that's where Bobby has gone – to the gym, to beat the crap out of a punching bag until the black fury and helpless frustration are – not gone, never entirely gone – but… manageable, at least. He'd left early, saying vaguely that there was something he had to do. He hadn't asked her to come along, and she hadn't been able to muster the wherewithal to call him on whatever it was.

As she returns slowly to her desk, her cellphone beeps at her. Pulling it out of her purse, she checks the missed call. _Bobby. Huh._ With a silent prayer – _please don't let this be some urgent lead that we have to pursue right now_ – she dials her voice mail.

"Hey, Eames…"

_He sounds exhausted_, she thinks with a pang.

"Listen, can you come and meet me at a piano bar called Tony's, on Church Street near the corner of Worth?"

_A piano bar? What the… is this a date?_

The two of them have been…whatever it is they are now that they're More Than Just Partners…for about two months, and she can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times they've gone out together on anything even remotely resembling a date. There's always work getting in the way – and anyway, it's not like they needed to date to get to know each other (_thank God_, she thinks). They've mostly been doing what they've always done – only she finds herself smiling at odd moments, for no reason…and she keeps catching him looking at her across their desks in a way that warms her all the way through…and some of their long days and nights end a _lot_ more pleasantly than they used to. _Sometimes they start a lot more pleasantly too, _she thinks, shivering at one recent memory

She actually can't quite believe how…effortless…it's been so far, the process of fitting intimacy into their partnership. Of course, it took them years, a lot of false starts and a big dose of sheer guts for them to get on the same page…and since they got there they've been taking it slow, figuring out how to balance the personal with the professional without screwing up on either side. She's not so giddy with newfound joy as to be unaware of the tightrope they're walking – but say what you will about the potential messiness of getting involved with a friend and colleague, they at least seem to have bypassed many of the usual new-relationship awkwardnesses and uncertainties.

Still, sometimes she worries that they might have inadvertently skipped some important step. _Maybe we should be Going Out and doing special date-like things…?_ She's glimpsed enough of Bobby's dating style over the years to know that his usual MO involves funky ethnic restaurants and evenings at the theatre or the symphony. She's pretty sure he knows she doesn't _need_ to be courted like that…but a small insecure part of her has wondered why he hasn't tried

And now, at the bitter end of a hellish day, when they're strung out and sleep deprived and jittery with anger at the outcome of their case…_this_ is when he decides he wants to take her to hear some jazz?_ Be careful what you wish for, Alex. Of course, this is Bobby we're talking about. Bizarre timing is practically his stock in trade. _She rolls her eyes, listening to the rest of the message.

"I, uh, don't know the exact address but it's near the Family Court building, across from that Chinese restaurant we cased last year for the Jansen art thefts."

She snorts. _How romantic._ Although she has to admit it's just like Bobby to notice a promising place on the periphery of a stake-out, and file it away in his encyclopaedic brain for future reference.

She clicks the phone shut and stares at it. _God, I am so goddamn tired. Am I really up for this?_ she wonders. _Maybe I should just call him and take a rain check, go home to bed. _ She's not sure if she can take the pressure of A Real Date (if that's what this is), after the week they've had.

_Ah, who am I kidding, _she thinks on a wave of sudden yearning. The simple need to see him, to be with him away from work, trumps her exhaustion. She locks up her desk, grabs her things and heads for the elevators.

Tony's is sprawling and dimly lit, and it takes her a minute to find him, sitting in a corner booth at the back, across from the tiny stage. He's leaning back, looking as grey and drawn as she feels, but he smiles when he sees her, and her heart turns over.

"Hey," she says, sliding in next to him. Then she notices the thick file folder on the table in front of him. "What's that?"

He flips it open so she can see, briefly. "The Whitlock case file."

"What?"

_No. We are off the clock, damn it. _She draws in a breath, tries for gentleness. "Bobby. Come on, it's over. Rehashing it all again won't change anything."

"I know," he says. "I brought it for the guy we're meeting here."

"We're meeting a guy?"

"Yeah – a friend of mine, a lawyer."

"You called me here for a _work _thing?"

_Whoa, tinge of hysteria there – get a grip, Alex. _

"Uh – yes. What did you…?"

_Oh, God. Never mind what I thought. Move along, please. Nothing to see here, folks._

"Doreen already _has _a lawyer, Bobby!" It comes out sharp with embarrassment and annoyance, and he looks at her, confused.

"No, I – not for Doreen. For Adam." Before he can continue to explain, someone calls his name, behind her.

"Jack," he says, standing up and shaking hands with a grey-haired man in a well-cut suit. "Thanks for coming down, I appreciate it. This is my partner, Alex Eames."

"Nice to meet you," Jack says, gripping her hand firmly across the table.

"Likewise," she says briefly, and feels Bobby look at her sideways, probably wondering what's up. _Keep on wondering, buddy_, she thinks as they order drinks, not really caring that she's being childish _I'm too tired to be reasonable, damn it, and I'm definitely too tired to talk shop_.

"Geez, Bobby, you look like hell," says Jack, which makes her curious in spite of herself. She knows Bobby has all kinds of friends in all kinds of places, but he doesn't have too many who know him well enough to tell the difference between his usual end-of-day disheveled look and the strain that marks him tonight.

"Tough case," her partner replies simply.

"Uh huh," Jack nods, surprising Alex again with the realization that he seems to actually understand. "You think I can help?"

"Jack's a children's rights attorney," says Bobby, answering her unspoken question at least in part. "He specializes in custody cases."

_For Adam,_ he'd said.

"Oh," she says, starting to get it.

They couldn't do anything to help Doreen Whitlock…but there was still her eldest son. _The loneliest kid in the world_. A little boy who liked to draw dinosaurs, who'd tried to protect his mother – who'd probably been doing that since he was old enough to realize that she was unaccountably fragile. _Oh,_ she thinks again, and now her irritation with Bobby is struggling for purchase against a wave of pity and understanding. _Of course he would want to help Adam._

Bobby turns back to Jack, flips open the file folder and slides Adam's photo across the table.

"This boy's mother has suffered for years from neglect and severe emotional abuse at the hands of her husband, as well as untreated post-partum depression. She tried to kill herself and her four kids with a car bomb. Only she and Adam survived."

"Jesus," said Jack.

"She thought she was doing right by them," Alex puts in. "And if you knew the father, you might almost agree."

Bobby leans across the table, intent. "He's culpable in every way _except_ in the legal sense, Jack…He's a cold, controlling bastard who holds his whole family up to impossible standards and waits for them to fail. He knew his wife was suicidal and did nothing to help her."

"More than that, he drove her to it, the way he treated her and the kids," says Alex. Bobby nods.

"But we can't prove it, and the DA can't charge him with a criminal offence. He's going to walk. But there is no _way_ he should keep custody of Adam."

Jack spread his hands. "That may be so, but I'll tell you right now – family court judges don't like taking kids away from their blood relations and putting them in foster care. It'll be an uphill battle, at the very least…especially if he's smart and manipulative, which it sounds like he is."

"Oh, he knows how to talk the talk all right," mutters Alex.

"But there is another blood relation," says Bobby. "Adam's maternal grandmother is willing to sue for custody. She just needs a good lawyer to make the case."

_Oh. That must be where he went this afternoon, _thinks Alex. _I guess I have to take back what I said about letting the case go, how rehashing it wouldn't make any difference._

"Ah," says Jack in his turn. "I see." He bends over the file again, and Alex feels a flicker of hope. Bobby catches her eye with a familiar look: _we've almost got him._

_Right, let's close the deal,_ she telegraphs back. In tandem they lean in, and as they go over the case with Jack, they bounce the narrative ball back and forth between them – Bobby pointing out small but crucial details and expanding on his profile of Whitlock, she keeping the big picture clear and focused. It's the same rhythm they get into when they're reporting to the Captain, she realizes, only this time she doesn't have to maintain the illusion of detachment, and God, that's a relief. _It feels good to go through it again for someone who might actually be able to do something with the information_, she thinks, and the last of her irritation at being dragged into the meeting dissipates.

When they come to the end, Jack closes the file folder and gives them a long, assessing look.

"Can you two be this convincing in front of a judge?"

"Just tell us when to show up," says Alex with fierce satisfaction, feeling Bobby nod beside her. _We'll get the bastard in family court if we can't get him in criminal court._

"Good." Jack pauses, still looking at them with a faint smile. "Shame I can't put the pair of you on the stand together. You're quite the debating team."

Bobby rubs his neck, shooting a sheepish grin at Alex. "We've worked together a long time."

"And we really want to help Adam," she adds, deflecting the praise automatically. But inwardly she feels a small rush of pride. _We are a force to be reckoned with_, she thinks with the warm, safe feeling of certainty that always comes with that knowledge. _But…an hour ago I would never have thought I'd feel that about this case._

"Thanks for listening," she says to Jack, meaning it.

"Yeah, I – we appreciate you taking this on, man," Bobby echoes.

"You can thank me when we win," replies Jack, snapping his briefcase shut. "Well – I've got to run. Good to see you, Bobby – and it was nice to meet you, Alex. I'll be in touch."

After Jack leaves, Bobby lets out a long breath and leans back in his seat, his eyes slipping closed. She shifts, reaches out to touch his knee under the table.

"That was a good thing you did, Bobby – bringing him in."

"I hope so," he says. He doesn't open his eyes, but he covers her hand with his and they sit there together in silence, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles. After a minute she hesitates, and then moves closer, letting herself lean against him, her cheek coming to rest against his shoulder. He stiffens for a second and she wonders if maybe she's made him uncomfortable – they're still negotiating the ever-shifting boundaries surrounding public displays of affection. The crucial need for discretion when they're on the clock is a hard habit to break, she's discovered. But he relaxes again almost immediately, turning his head to place a quick kiss on her hair.

"The piano player is really good here," he says softly. "He should be starting in a few minutes. Do you want to get something to eat?"

Half an hour later they're partway through a huge plate of nachos, and she's working on a nice buzz. It's one part the second round of beers they ordered to go with the food, and several more parts the feeling of Bobby's thigh pressing long and warm against hers, and their fingers still tangled together under the table. _An unexpected advantage of dining on finger food with a man who's left-handed_, she thinks contentedly.

Suddenly Bobby sits up straight, looking at her intently.

"What?" she says with some dread. That look usually means he's had an idea, and she's not sure she can handle a ride on the Bobby Goren Brainstorming Bumper Cars tonight.

"Earlier," he says, "right before Jack got here…"

"Yeah?"

"You thought I'd asked you here for a _date_." It's not a question.

_Oh, crap. Damn his brain that just won't let anything go. _

"Jeez, would it be too much for you to forget a throwaway comment, just once?" she rails.

He ignores that, waiting for her to confirm or deny. She shrugs, embarrassed all over again.

"It doesn't matter, Bobby. Like I said – it's good that you brought Jack here, good that we talked to him."

"I needed to do something," he says. "Something for Adam."

"I know."

"And I knew you were angry about how things turned out too…and I thought, maybe…helping me convince Jack to take his case…maybe that would make you feel better. That's why I called you."

She sits back, gazing at him. _Exhibit A, your Honour, in the case of Why Dating One's Partner is Not the Recipe for Professional and Personal Disaster That Everyone Seems To Think It Is. _

"Thank you for that," she says softly. "I'll admit I was annoyed at first that you'd dragged me out to talk to someone about a case, when all I wanted to do was go home to bed. But you were right – I do feel better." _Thank you_, she doesn't say, _for knowing the job, knowing me, knowing everything…_

He doesn't look reassured. He's fidgeting with his napkin, folding and refolding it into a tiny square, and she has to struggle not to be distracted by the movement of his long fingers. She's always thought he had beautiful hands.

"Do you – I mean, we haven't gone on very many _dates_ per se…" He looks at her sideways, and then away. "Not that I don't want to go out with you, because I do, of course, I just –

She cuts him off gently.

"Bobby. It's okay. Really. We don't have to do the dating thing."

He looks at her, worried. "Are you sure? I haven't – felt like we needed to, either. But I don't want to…I don't know, drop the ball on the – the boyfriend front."

With considerable difficulty, she suppresses the teenaged giggle that threatens to burst forth at his use of the word _boyfriend._

"I promise, you're doing fine."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. More than fine." He's smiling a little now, and she slips her hand into his again.

"Anyway, look at us now," she continues. "We're eating, drinking, holding hands under the table… I say if it walks like a date and talks like a date…"

His snort of amusement makes her want to sing. "Okay," he says. Then he leans close, so that his lips brush her ear and his breath is warm on her neck. "Can we go parking, later?"

She has to shut her eyes for a second to control the shiver that runs over her whole body, and the giddy laughter that wants to bubble up from somewhere deep inside.

"Promises, promises," she says offhandedly, not caring that the effect is probably ruined by the wide smile she can't seem to reign in.

He sits back, watching her with answering happiness deep in his eyes.

"Eat your nachos, Eames."

END


End file.
